Through Fields of Green: The Chase
The end of Greening lay just on the horizon, riding frequent heat waves that torment all beneath the noonday sun. On one particular day of less than desirable temperature, a carriage bearing the Mikin crest lost a wheel en route to the Palace. The horses had been driven too swiftly up the hill, and a rock appeared to foul the travelers’ day with misfortune. One crack, three shudders, and a thump later, the occupants were tossed together within while their ride came to an abrupt halt. While the ladies and lords scowled within, and driver shook his fists into the air, a young girl climbed her way over skirts and boots to the door. For the first time, the youngest child of Light’s Reach’s rulers laid eyes on the grassy hill of Fastheld Keep, and the glistening palace which rose to the heavens at the peak. Her lower lip tucked itself between her teeth in deep concentration. An adventure! Yes, for a moment in time while her father’s servants repaired the carriage, she was delivered to this place to explore. “Rowena!” Her father grunted firmly, and reached over her shoulder with a paw-like hand to shove open the angled door. “Move aside so that I may inspect this disaster.” She kept still as he grasped her shoulders and lifted her out ahead of him, planting her solidly at the road’s side. Behind her, her mother rolled her eyes and began to fan at her pretty face. “Inspect.” Rowena repeated, more so to herself than the proud man who marched past, perhaps preparing a fine list of oaths for the carriage driver. Yes, it was time to inspect. Shuffling her red-colored slippers into the grass, she glanced once over her shoulder to ensure that she would not be missed immediately. Satisfied that her father’s gruff scolding to the vassals and driver would occupy his time for at least ten minutes, Rowena ventured forward. A soft breeze lifted her dark curls from alongside her cheeks, mingling them with the red ribbon that fluttered in her hair. She squinted, turning in a full circle to survey the lay of the land. A lofty flight of a yellow butterfly captured her attention, and lured her to follow it. Together, both child and insect bounded over the grassy earth in a game of chase. She grinned, eager to capture the beauty in her palms. Her persistent pace was almost upon it, when a snide tone halted her in her tracks. “You shouldn’t be running.” A gasp caught in Rowena’s throat, and she wheeled about to view the intruder of her game. As innocent as the light, standing in a red and white sundress amidst a field of green and yellow, she sized up her critic. A boy, not much larger than she, stood just a couple meters away with a leather ball in hand. He was what her mother would have called a handsome lad, with dark hair and matching eyes, but he lacked a certain shine she found in most of her playmates. Too serious. But a second figure ambled up alongside of him. A black dog with lolling tongue and friendly smile. Judgment passed, she folded her arms across her defiant chest and huffed. “Well, I can keep up after my brothers, and they are much taller than you.” The doll-faced girl insisted with a pert lift of her chin. As if her pretty dress and fragile, silver bracelet did not boast her bloodline, the regality in her stance said it all. Not very keen on being shown up by a girl, much less a prim little thing such as this, the ruffian sniffed an air of haughtiness back into his nose and glared. His dark eyes narrowed in determination, and bare feet scraped the dirt. “If that’s the case, then you aren’t a lady after all, and so I shouldn’t waste my time with the likes of you. Momma says tavern wenches are better suited for the gallows than a friend, after she caught father with two of them in the stables.” Snorting in arrogance, the boy turned on his heels and chased his canine companion over the hillside. Confused, Rowena watched the pair shrink in size, her face screwed with a look of perplexity. She wasn’t entirely certain that she understood the relation between a tavern and the gallows, nor why a tavern wench would be found at a barn, but she took some hint. There would be no play. Heaving a dramatic sigh that only a seven year old girl can muster while lost in boredom, Rowena toyed with her bracelet. “Why did he run away?” Piped a spout of curiosity from behind her, in the form of another young boy’s voice. “Are you cursed? Father says that many things in Fastheld are cursed.” “I’m not cursed! Who might your father be to make such a statement?” Rowena insisted with a girlish snort and stepped in a wandering circle to size up the next child. This one came with company, too! Only his was much larger. Beyond them, a beautiful horse and rider had approached her father’s carriage, offering their assistance. For a moment, she forgot her manners and let her jaw drop in awe of the gleaming armor. “The Emperor, of course.” The lad stated bluntly, and then dropped his hand to his side to dip forward with a rather goofy bow. “My name is Serath and, I live there.” He waved a hand at the gargantuan keep that should have been her father’s destination. “So what are you then, if he left in such a way?” A pair of blue, inquisitive eyes studied her suddenly in a way that made the woman child feel quite small. “I’m Rowena Mikin, daughter to the rulers of Light’s Reach. That boy told me I could not run, but I think he’s lying.” She nodded her head with an attempt at wisdom, hoping she’d not be punished for inadvertently questioning His Majesty’s reasoning. “Because I have legs and therefore I can run, just as any other.” “Of course you can.” Serath replied and then lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he gathered a view of the slope. “I can run, too, but I’d rather ride the horse.” Rowena’s little chin dropped a second time. The discoveries would never cease! Mindful of her Ps and Qs, the girl dropped into her best imitation of a curtsey, a bit more exaggerated than necessary. When she rose, she couldn’t conceal the look of excitement upon her face. “You have a horse!?” It seemed the thought of owning such a magnificent beast enthralled her more than the notion of royalty. “Yes.” Serath answered nonchalantly, shrugging as though it were not a tremendous ordeal. “But I must share him with the others until I am old enough, father says.” “How old are you now?” Rowena inquires, and bends to pick at a flower. “Eight.” The boy announced proudly, and then pointed to a scraggly, young tree that grew from the ground about twenty meters away. It was time to change the subject. “Because you can run, let us race to that tree. Flowers aren’t very interesting.” He eyed her current distraction with mild contempt. “Yes they are...” Rowena retorted in swift defense of the vivid blossom she cupped in her palms. “No, they are not. And because my father’s word is law, and he says that all who cross me shall meet their end at his blade…” Serath paused, looking about in search of a weapon. Finding a stick not too far away, he ran to retrieve it. When the sword took up in his hand, he ran back and waved it in the air. “You shall agree that a flower is less interesting than a footrace!” Rowena wrinkled her nose, nearly becoming dizzy while tracking the course of the crooked blade. “I shall not! But you cannot defeat me with ease, young prince, because I...” Now it was her turn to search for a weapon. Only a moment or two of thought passed before she proceeded to shred the flower in her hands. Once her palms were full of the stuff, she cupped them to her lips and blew forcefully in his direction. “...shall use a sleeping potion of the fairies!” The petals rose up in a turbulent wind, but then spiraled harmlessly to the ground. Oops. Serath grinned, and lurched forward, aiming the stick to tap her arm. Rowena gasped and ran swiftly away. Pursued, she ripped handfuls of grass while skipping aside to dodge another attack. The grass is flung in defense, and she shrieked in laughter as the boy furiously swatted the green shower away with his mighty sword. “Sleep!” She commanded and flung another handful, then dashed away again. Rowena’s legs were a bit long for her age, but her dress negated the advantage. Serath was a year older, and had those twelve months more than she to fine tune motor skills. Still, the girl put forth a valiant effort. Her little hands gripped her skirts, cheeks puffing as she panted furiously. The grass whipped back at her ankles with the stinging of nettles, but she would not slow. A sideways look of determination turned into disappointment as Serath slowly gained on her. Her face scrunched into envy, wishing she had boots and trousers, too, rather than slippers and lace. The hunt was forgotten when Serath saw the leafy goal ahead, and he proceeded to turn the battle into his desired race. Steadily, he climbed into the lead… They were nearly to the tree when Rowena’s coordination finally failed. Too startled to cry out, she suddenly found the ground in the sky’s place, extended arms scraping through the wicked grass blades. The pitch forward tousled her pretty curls, and almost lost her one shoe. Hand slapping the bark of the tree in triumph, Serath grinned widely, and turned to face his opponent. Only…there was nothing to face. He did, however, spy a shock of curls sprouting unnaturally from the grass a few meters ahead, and a lacey frill to accompany it. Victory faded into concern and he trotted towards the fallen girl. Rowena remained lying face downwards, her mouth turned into a frown of defeat. A flash of yellow wafted out of her vision, the butterfly perhaps swooping in to investigate. When the rustling of footsteps approached, she lifted her head, a smudge of dirt on her cheek. “I would have won.” She insisted. “I bet I could win a second time.” Serath grinned down at her, seeing that she is all right. “But that does not matter. Because now, you are my prisoner, friend of flowers. He pointed the stick at her from a safe distance, but a sharp bark of a voice halted further action. “ROWENA!” Huffed a lady servant from the roadside. Violet skirts lifted, she ran in their direction, red in the face with frustration. “Young lady, you have no business in doing such things! You’ve ruined your gown! How will you enter court like that?” “Uh-oh…” Rowena whispered, and scrambled to her feet on her own accord. She hastily brushed at her dress and hair, leaving a single blade of grass entangled in her tresses. “I’m sorry, Melly, I didn’t mean it!” She pleads, lip protruding in an infamous pout. “Young miss, do not...” The woman stopped abruptly before the two children and gave a swift bob of her head to the boy. “Prince.” She then casts a stern eye to Rowena and waggles a finger. “Your father is greatly displeased! Now...come along...” Serath watched in silence, looking from one to the other. The stick fell from his hands in disappointment, but a polite nod of the head returned the lady’s greeting. “But Melly, wait!” Rowena whined, trying to free her left hand from the fist that began to drag it towards the carriage. She waved her right in the air. “My bracelet! I lost my bracelet!” Indeed, the silver links of rosebuds and gemstones no longer graced her fragile wrist. Melly halted, sending Rowena stumbling forward again. Her gold-spun hair caught the sun in such a way to make the tautness of her bun appear all the more severe. Her lips pinched into a most unbecoming scowl. “Really, now.” An iron grip yanked the child’s bare wrist closer for inspection. While the nursemaid commenced her scolding, a stronger voice commanded attention from the roadside. “Serath!” The nobleman called, his horse back-pedaling from the revived carriage. “Come along.” Rowena cast her new friend a sidelong look, ears numbly soaking in the maid’s prattle while she watched the boy obediently march back to the roadside ahead. For a brief moment their eyes met, then Melly stepped in her line of sight and proceeded to tug her along to the carriage. “Your father will be most displeased.” Yet when they returned to the carriage, not a word was spoken. Her mother paled at the sight of her dress and curls and plunked Rowena on her left side, away from the window. Dainty fingers wipe the dirt from her cheek and combed through her hair while the child wriggled in protest. Rowena’s neck craned forward to keep the horse and riders in her sights as they rode in tandem to the keep. Category: Chiaroscuro Stories